


Subtle Manipulation

by M04



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Book 7: Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Canon Compliant, Canonical Character Death, Community: grindeldore, Feels, Godric's Hollow, M/M, Missing Scene, Not Happy, Sad, Sad Ending, Self-Reflection, The Life and Lies of Albus Dumbledore, Young Love, love is blind
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-05
Updated: 2016-09-05
Packaged: 2018-08-13 04:01:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7961647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/M04/pseuds/M04
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two brilliant young men meet, plot, and fall in love. What begins as earnest flirtation morphs into something sinister. Missing scenes/missing details <br/>This work is unbetaed, if you see errors please share</p>
            </blockquote>





	Subtle Manipulation

Gellert Grindewald’s claim to fame rested not in his ability to convince others to do his bidding. His true skill lay in making himself responsible for people doing what they wanted to do anyway. Gellert brought out the worst in people in the name of the greater good, and in so doing absolved his acolytes of responsibility for their actions. 

It is perhaps the greatest sin of my life that I allowed myself to be my baser self, my primal self, and permitted Gellert to house responsibility for my choices.

At the tender age of 18 I found myself suddenly head of a household. I had two lives in my care and all my plans for the future snatched from my hands. I was so angry, so resentful, so self centered, I barely noticed that my choices had ramifications far beyond my own narcissistic aspirations.

It wasn’t until after he left that I knew Gellert was my first love. I had attended the Yule Ball during my sixth with a strapping seventh-year bloke named Arsenius Abbott and fancied myself in love. We danced the night away and ended with a silencing charm, a pretty bit of transfiguration, and a significant learning experience. When he was slow to return my letters the following year I initially assumed he was simply busy with his new apprenticeship. 

When I came through the unsecured floo at his new flat to discover he was not alone my heart shattered. Little did I know that the feeling was but a pale imitation of true heartbreak. That sort of event, all off in one moment, is painful. Betrayal that goes on for a moment is unpleasant but I ultimately realized that my feelings for Arsenius were insignificant.

After my mother passed away I found myself in a world I knew nothing of, had never intended to know anything of. It had never been my intention to have a family of any kind, the thought had never occurred to me. I suppose that some part of my brain expected some sort of long term relationship, or at least some sort of heir, but all thoughts along that line were entirely abstract. Imagine my surprise when I found myself a guardian, a breadwinner.

Those first few weeks were a nightmare.

Ariana didn’t understand, couldn’t understand, what had happened or why her life had changed. She knew, in any given moment, that mum wasn’t around. I never got the feeling, though, that she truly understood that she wouldn’t be coming back. When Ariana would scream for mum her shrill cries felt like they might shatter the windows.

I knew that she didn’t understand.

I knew that she had no ill intent.

I hated her anyway. 

And I hated myself for hating her.

Aberforth did not escape the wrath, of course, but things with him were different. When he screamed he screamed at me, we screamed at each other. We were nearly evenly matched for height, and Aberforth could match me pitch for pitch. We fought about everything, meals, chores, homework, everything. If I’d said the sky was blue he would have argued that the sky was green, just to spite me.

So our house had a lot of yelling.  
* * *  
And then he showed up. He was quiet, and he had this aura about him of steady control. When I first saw him walking across the square I dropped the bag I was carrying. A dozen perfectly good eggs gone all to waste. What’s more, even dropping the bag didn’t snap me out of it. The bag was soaked through, yellow seeping through the weave and between the cobblestones, following the vaguely downhill trajectory of the square. Eventually I forced myself to look away, I turned on my heel and walked right back to the house, my cheeks flushed.

In retrospect, I understand that the town is small and deducing where the tall, awkward, ginger boy lived couldn’t possibly have been that challenging. At the time though, when the doorbell rang, it seemed incalculable. A grinning blonde stood on the doorstep, bouncing on the balls of his feet, swinging a woven market bag in his hands. I watched him through the curtain on the door, trying to catch my breath. He told me later that he’d seen me watching him and chose to pretend otherwise. 

Eventually I did manage to open the door, though my hands were shaking. It’s not every day a god-like specimen of a man shows up at the door for no apparent reason.

“Good...good afternoon.” I’d bowed my head, watching him through my eyelashes. 

“Good afternoon,” he grinned and rocked back and forth on his toes, leaning forward more so each time. After a long pause he added, “are you going to invite me in?”

“Yes, yes, of course.” I backed away and opened the door into the house. He swept inside like he owned the place, like he owned all places, and sauntered down the hallway. It felt as though he belonged, as though he’d always been there. 

“I noticed,” he called, his volume rising from the inside of the ice chest, “that you dropped your eggs this morning. We couldn’t have that.”

At that, my voice returned to me and I followed him into my own kitchen. I stopped in the doorway and watched him, feeling more comfortable in my own skin. “I appreciate the gesture,” I motioned to the eggs, “but, who are you?”

“I assumed you knew.”

“I’m afraid I don’t.”

He swept around with a flourish made entirely of blonde hair and willpower and bowed so low I thought he might snap himself right in two. “I’m Gellert Grindewald. Genius, scamp, anarchist, reformer.” I raised an eyebrow when he raised himself up and clasped my hand, kissing it as though he was meeting a damsel. I blushed, and when his eyes met mine, he winked.

* * *  
He wooed me, properly wooed me. I was so angry and twisted that, at first, I didn’t recognize it. He showed up with little things. Early in the morning he appeared with warm bread, fresh from the baker’s oven. In the evening he showed up with wine, or cheese, or both. He even brought presents for Aberforth and Ariana. I was flummoxed and Abe thought it was hilarious. Every time another gift appeared on our door step, with a blonde currier or without, he would rib me endlessly. 

When an unattended bouquet of wildflowers (most of which would be excellent supplies for potion making, thank you very much) appeared on its own on the dining table I thought Aberforth might die of laughter. Before… everything, he had always been very good natured about my clumsy foyers into romance. Watching Gellert court me, and watching me respond artlessly, haltingly, and blushingly, was like having his own personal entertainment. 

And then he tried to help.

It wasn’t always helpful, but he did try to help.

And there was laughter in our house.

* * *  
Gellert was a charmer, there was no doubt about that. I didn’t even realize I had fallen for him until Aberforth pointed it out. 

He fit into our lives so seamlessly that it felt as though he’d always been a part of the story. We would spend time as a group, picnics, walks, meals, even a trip to a muggle nickelodeon, over Gellert’s stringent objections. “Of course the pictures move, that’s not impressive.” “It’s not even good storytelling.” “Honestly Albus, how could a man of your stature be interested in such a pedestrian medium?”

And I learned from him, we all did. He and Ariana bonded over a mutual affection for laying cat like in a perfect ray of sun. I would come upon them, lying on their backs in the drawing room, silently soaking up the sun’s rays.

Inexplicably, Gellert had a fondness for quidditch, particularly in the English league. He even owned a Puddlemere United banner, which I neither cared for, nor understood. More than once, when attempting to set the table for dinner, I was chased from my own kitchen table lest I should, “disturb complicated strategy arrangements” of salt shakers, spoons, and sugar cubes. When I pointed out that Puddlemere United seldom sought strategy advice from teenagers in The West Country they glared me back out of the kitchen. 

I’m not sure if Gellert was genuinely interested in my siblings, or simply being kind for my sake, but it certainly won me over. His intentions were irrelevant, he was perfect. He was kind, gracious, patient, funny…

The way I felt for Arsenius was a pathetic spark, Gellert was an inferno. He made my work better, me made my soul lighter, he made my house warmer, and he gave voice to ideas that had been flitting around the back of my brain since Ariana’s… incident.

And there was love, so much love, in our house.

* * *  
We sat by the edge of a creek, his arms wrapped around me, my head in the crook of his neck. He laced his fingers between mine and whispered in my ear. “You would be the most radiant emperor, Albus.”

I’m not particularly proud of the way that statement made me giggle and blush. “Imagine the good you could do, eliminate anti-magic bias, abolish The Statute of Secrecy,” he bit my earlobe and exhaled onto my neck, “take your rightful place.” I shivered.

Power and vengeance were compelling, love was intoxicating, and the set together made me reckless. Gellert’s insistence that I could have all my dreams, and be benevolent at the same time, clouded my thinking.

* * *

When Aberforth first heard Gellert’s pitch about Wizard superiority and the proper place of muggles he listened patiently. Watching Gellert discuss his passion had me so enraptured that Aberforth accused me, many years later, of not actually hearing what Gellert said.

After Gellert left for the evening Abe cornered me in my bedroom. Surrounded by books and furniture from our father’s study, he found me and knelt, like a parent speaking to a child, next to my chair.

“Albus, we need to talk,” he sounded so solemn, so serious, it almost seemed as though he were the adult and I the fledgeling. I closed my book and looked down at him over the top of my glasses. After a few moments of silence I nodded, signaling that he should proceed. He sat back on his heels and looked up at me, sucking his teeth. “It’s about...Gellert.”

“What about him?”

“What do you think of what he said tonight, at dinner?”

“About Puddlemere United’s chances of getting to the world cup for England? You know I don’t follow that nonsense.” He raised an eyebrow and tilted his head to the side, the way a dog does when it wants to see something more clearly.

“No, Albus… His” Another labored pause, he set one hand on my knee. “plans.” The word was so soft I could have missed it.

“Yes, I know about his plans, isn’t it marvelous?”

“Marvelous? Al… Do you… You’re so smart… Is it possible you don’t… Al, what do you think he’s proposing?”

“A return to the natural order, of course.” I said it so surely, so steadily, with such sincerity, Abe told me years later, that he had to walk away. He stood up, touched the top of my head in a way that reminded me forcibly of our father, and left. I watched him go, not really understanding the conversation.

And there was suspicion in our house.

* * *

Several days later, moving into the warmest part of the summer, Gellert and I lay on a blanket next to the stream, soaking wet. As the sun slowly dried our skin I turned and looked up at him, resting my chin on his chest. He idly ran his fingers through my damp hair and down the base of my neck, making me sigh and consider drifting off to sleep. I forced myself to sit up a little, propping my torso up with one elbow. Looking deep into his eyes I asked, “will… that is… would…”

“What, love?” He ran his fingers down the side of my face from my hair, and my head tilted of its own accord into his touch.

“If we were to...to get The Hallows, what happens when we become masters of death?”

“Ve take our rightful place as rulers of the vorld. We rule benevolently and justly, ensuring that no vizards’ rights are violated for zee comfort of lesser beings.”

“Of muggles.”

“Yes, for zee comfort of muggles. Vizards should rule the world, don’t you agree?” He lifted my chin with his fingertips, his green eyes watching me closely.

“I… yes. It’s just… what about muggle weapons? What about the people who believe that the Statute of Secrecy is the best course of action? We’re not immortal, after all. We’re still flesh and blood, if you prick us, do we not bleed?”

“Alby, darling, really. You sink ve vill let a few, close minded, or self-aggrandizing muggles halt zee progress oz zee vorld?”

“But how would we stop them?”

“Zee same vay ve vould deal wiss any pest, oz course.”

“Letting them out of the house into the field?”

He raised an eyebrow and laughed, heartily. When he realized he was the only one laughing he looked me in the eye, holding my chin and my attention. “Ve exterminate pests, Albus. Zhere’s a whole industry of potions and spells for zee purpose of… eliminating unwanted interlopers.”

I shivered and lay my head on his chest. If he assumed I shivered because of the chill of the breeze on my damp skin, I felt no urge to correct the misconception.

And there was blind faith in our house.

* * *

As the summer progressed our plans for the upcoming season came into clearer focus. I was ready to avenge my sister, I was ready to protect my brother, and I was ready to follow Gellert into a room full of fiendfyre. We planned to scour the continent in our search for the stone and the ring. The cloak seemed both the simplest and most challenging, but Gellert suspected that it had never left Godric's Hallow.

The reality of the situation in regards to Ariana’s care remained fixedly beyond the scope of my attention. Thinking back on it I can see that my complete blindness to her needs ended up being a critical error. 

“We’ll take you to King’s Cross and then the three of us will head to the continent. The lore seems to show that…”

“The three of us?”

“Yes, you and Ariana and I.”

“Alby, darling.”

“I cannot leave her, Gellert.” At the time I fancied my words firm, commanding even. He responded by fixing me with a patient, patronizing, loving look and took one of my hands in both of us.”

“Ve cannot travel wiz a sick child Albus, it is impractical. Ve vill be sleeping out of doors, spending days avay from civilization. It iz not likely to ve a suitable environment for someone in her...condition.”

“And what, exactly, do you mean by that?” I sat up on the bed, crossing my legs to look down at Gellert. He lay languidly, stretched on what I’d come to think of as his side of the bed. He looked up at me, peered really, and waited for endless minutes. 

“If you vish to fight, Albus, perhaps ve should go down to the creek. Ve vould hate to vake Aberforth and Ariana.”

I took a deep breath and changed track, hissing rather than raising my volume. “And what, Gellert, do you mean by, ‘her condition.”

“You know very vell vhat I mean Albus.” Having a fight is frustrating, trying to have a fight with someone who will not cooperate is maddening. He was right, of course, spelunking around the continent looking for a stone and a stick was no place for someone with wildly unpredictable magic. New places scared her, made her outbursts larger, and more frequent. In a cave, or underground, in the woods far from help, her powers could decimate entire structures. She could trap them all at the bottom of a cave in the middle of Bulgaria. I knew all of that, I did. 

“If I put her in St. Mungo’s Aberforth will have my head.”

“You must decide, dearest, vhat you value more.”

I’m embarrassed now how long it took me to come to the correct response to this statement, too long, as it turned out.

And our house began to run out of time, though none of us knew it.

***

“You’ve gone round the twist! Do you hear what you’re saying, suggesting? You’re willing to undo all of mother’s work so you can go on a continental treasure hunt? It’s madness Albus.”

“It isn’t madness, Aberforvf.” His voice was so calm, so reassuring, it amazed me that anyone could resist his thrall. It has been suggested, by some conspiracy theorists, that Gellert may have been part veela. These claims are usually dismissed as impossible, but my nightmares and (yes, even sometimes still) my dreams, make me wonder if there might be a hint of truth.

“Albus!” Aberforth shook my arm so earnestly, but I only dug in my heels.

“It isn’t a treasure hunt, it is a crusade.”

“Like the muggles had? That’s terrible Albus, why would you want to do that?”

“Perhaps,” Gellert purred, “You are just...more myopic zan your brozer. Ve vill raise the vizard to his rightful place, above the petty, feuding, mongrels.”

“Surely you don’t believe this, Albus, look at me.” Abe’s voice cracked, as males voices of that age are wont to do, and Gellert began to laugh. 

“Don’t be silly, child. Ze adults vill make za decisions, perhaps you should go and play a game.” Before I could register what had been said I saw my brother’s wand drop from his sleeve, point towards Gellert, and promptly slice through his shirt. The spell, I could tell, hadn’t had exactly the effect he’d wanted, but his aim was pure and for the first time I appreciated his ability to draw his wand at a moment’s notice.

Gellert was more impressive than my dear brother could even begin to understand, and it shouldn’t have surprised me when Gellert’s unspoken curse sent Abe flying into a table in the sitting room. The rickety furniture collapsed under the sudden weight and he let out a profanity that I’d never heard him use before. He pointed his wand at Gellert again but before either could fire I yelled, “PROTEGO!” 

An invisible barrier sprang up between them, and both turned to glare at me.

“Alby, darling, vat are you doing?”

“Yeah, ‘Alby,’ can’t you see your...friend and I were having a discussion? It’s rude to interrupt.”

Before I could respond the sound of shattering ceramic filled the air, followed by a pitiful wail. Both Abe and I froze for a moment, then sprang to action. Well, Abe sprang to action, I sprang to my now-trademark cowardice. While he followed his duty and his heart and ran up the stairs to check on Ariana, I threw myself into Gellert's arms, hiding my face in his collarbone. He wrapped his arms around me and I realized that I hadn’t been breathing. 

“It is alright, darling, everyzing will be alright.”

And there was violence in our house.

***

These little disagreements, little in that they seldom resulted in injuries of any consequence, continued until we’d settled into a sort of twisted pattern. Gellert would show up to fetch me, or drop me off, or drop off a gift, and Aberforth would lay into him. The topics varied, a little, from shaming him over his overt manipulation (a charge I also flatly denied), to megalomania. Wands would be drawn, curses would fly, Ariana would scream, Gellert and I would flee the scene and leave my unqualified brother to pick up the pieces.

Late one evening, not long after the first wands-out-disagreement, Aberforth appeared in my doorway holding a flickering candle. He stopped, as if he were some sort of vampire, unable to cross the threshold without an invitation. The light, and the fact that he was worrying his bottom lip the way he had since primary school, softened him. It wasn’t until that moment that I realized how very grown my brother had become, and how much like me. The Dumbledore temper burned brightly in him, just below the surface, there was no doubt about that. Still, at this moment, he looked so innocent that I couldn’t help but gesture for him to come inside.

I had myself seated on the floor, surrounded by leather bound tomes, a quill hanging from my teeth. He sat down on my abandoned chair and stared into the fire, still bitting his lip. After a long wait, but just before he drew blood, I reached up and touched his knee, jolting him out of his revere. 

“Alby… I hate that he calls you that.”

“You came up here to fight? I’d rather not, if it's all the same to you.”

“I didn’t mean to… I just… I don’t like… I don’t…” I started at him, waiting, hoping he’d come to the point soon so that I could get back to my research. There wasn’t a moment to waste, after all. 

Finally he said, “I just don’t know what to call you now, it seems like he’s taken that for himself, but I don’t want to call you Albus.”

I chuckled and touched his hand gently, “How about Al, you used to like that.”

“Doesn’t that sound, ‘dreadfully muggle?’” His impression was terrifyingly on point, and I had to fight to neither chuckle nor scold. 

“Al will be fine, it’ll be just for us.” He looked down into my eyes, searching for I-don’t-know, and shook his head, rising off the seat. 

“It’ll never be just us, Al, not now.” The way he looked at me, was like he didn’t expect to see me again. In a way, he was right.

And there was a shaky truce in our house.

***  
When I came in the front door they were already at eachother’s throats, but they hadn’t drawn their wands, not yet. I gave them the most put-upon look that I could muster and stomped over to them, ready to read them the riot act for fighting in the house AGAIN. 

“You’re a monster, you know it, I know it, Ariana knows it, even old Bagshot knows you’re a monster. You’ve got Al blinded by your…” He gestured vaguely at Gellert’s body, “whatever it is. If you really care for him, if you have ever really cared for anyone, you’ll leave Godric's Hallow, and you’ll do it tonight.”

“I cannot do that, Abby, as you well know. Albus is destined for greatness, and no trifles will stop him. If you cannot understand the words, perhaps you will understand the action.” And with that, he pointed his wand at my brother’s chest. He looked different, somehow, more sincere in his anger. I drew my wand to disarm the both of them and in a blink something exploded. 

At first it seemed like our three spells had met and sparked. It took a moment for us to realize that the whiz-pop-blast was familiar. Ariana’s unrestrained, untrained, unpredictable magic crackled in the air for a moment and then, as suddenly as it had come, it vanished. None of us had heard her come into the room. The sickening thud that followed caused all three of us to lower our wands.

There, on the floor in the center of our darkness, lay the sweetest, brightest light any of us had ever known. Abe and I both fell to the ground, frantically searching for a pulse. When neither of us could find one I grabbed her and pulled her to my chest. He told me afterwards that I was speaking to her, begging her to return, but I don’t remember any of it. The tears on my cheeks were such a surprise that for a moment I thought we’d blown a hole in the roof. I clung to her, as though hoping that my sincere grief could return her. 

When we met for our final duel, Gellert told me that he’d tried to help, to comfort me. But Abe sent him away, wouldn’t let him touch me. As would be expected, Aberforth’s version is different. The way he recalls it Gellert took flight the moment Ariana collapsed. I suspect I will never know, not in this life. 

And there was pain in our house.  
And there was death in our house.  
And there were aching, stretching silences in our house, and across both space and time.


End file.
